


Sideroads

by Siriex



Series: Fate AUs [3]
Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Unbetaed and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriex/pseuds/Siriex
Summary: A collection of drabbles (or, they were supposed to be drabbles) set in the AUs of my previous Fate fics (Complementary and Talking Circles). Pairings and characters will be updated as I go.
Relationships: Enkidu | False Lancer/Gilgamesh | Archer, Sigma/No Name | False Assassin
Series: Fate AUs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547698
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	1. Four Year Degree [Complementary]

Professor El Melloi II had a dual appointment in English and Psychology, though he spent most his time in the former. He taught a writing course. It was the kind of intro-level slog that got foisted upon lecturers and the occasional unfortunate pre-tenure assistant professor. It meant that he’d taught a good chunk of the student body at one point or another. Flat met him in his second semester, following his roommate Svin.

Professor El Melloi II was young with the wrinkles of someone much older. He dressed in suits and scarves out of line with the usual departmental dress, was strict but fair, and _someone_ had given him a chili pepper on RateMyProf.

Svin did not care. He was more concerned about the professor’s TA; a slight girl who kept her face hidden behind a hood no matter the weather.

Shortly after midterms, Flat received an email asking him to come to his professor’s office. The explanation was terse. Something about his paper. Svin craned over his shoulder with a predatory smirk. “What’d you do?” he asked, teeth glinting in the fading sunlight. “Because it sounds like he’s mad.”

“I don’t know,” Flat replied. He took the earliest possible appointment.

The professor’s office was cramped cinder block with no windows to speak of. Most of the space was consumed by two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves cramped full of dogeared volumes.

Flat dropped into the one empty chair and glanced over the titles. Some of them he recognized from class, but others were less familiar. One of the lower shelves was dedicated to history and geography. Those books were covered in dust. 

The professor cleared his throat. “This is your essay?” A pile of red-marked paper dropped into his lap.

Flat picked it up with a grin. “Yeah! I know you said we were supposed to write about some of the symbolism you talked about in class, but then I was playing this game where you’re starting this empire, and then I started reading all these books, and I noticed that the book had a lotta similarities to the Time of Troubles! So I,”

“Stop.”

Flat snapped his mouth shut.

“You wrote this.”

“Yeah!” Flat’s enthusiasm was only marginally dampened by the unspoken implications. It would not be the first time someone’d made similar insinuations.

“I can’t give you credit.”

Hiding his disappointment was easy. He lifted the paper back onto his professor’s desk and ticked a smile. Was defending himself worth it? Likely not. He’d gotten enough accusations of plagiarism when he was in high school. He’d managed to clear most of them, but his teachers never stopped suspecting.

But then.

“You did not follow the assignment at all. This is an entirely different topic- the only common thread is the book!” El Melloi II shoved the packet back in his hands. “Make sure to read the prompt carefully next time.”

Flat accepted it. He gaped down at the red marks hatched across the text, too shocked to maintain his smile. “You believe me?”

A scoff. “And use spellcheck. If you were copying from somewhere else, your writing wouldn’t have been nearly that informal. You have one week.”

“You mean,”

“And don’t throw that away.” El Melloi II stood and cracked open the window. The weather was taking a turn to winter. Flat did not feel the chill. “I have not seen anyone make that connection before. It’s worth trying to get it published. Can you meet this time next week?”

He jumped at the opportunity.

\--

Svin had a soul mark on his upper thigh. It was bright blue slashes and orange disks. He didn’t want it because it wasn’t Gray’s.

Flat understood but didn’t. Maybe it was because his skin was as clear as the day he was born. If he were the type for introspection (he wasn’t), he would attribute it to the wall between him and the rest of the world. He could shout through it, and people could shout back- but nothing reached through.

Svin shouted. Svin shouted from the moment he wrinkled his nose when Flat walked into their dorm room. He shouted about Flat’s personality, his hobbies, his study habits, and his clothing, and Flat basked in it.

He was savoring another yell when Svin reeled him back in. “And what about you?”

“Me?”

“Were you even _listening_?”

Flat rolled onto his back to the sheets and threw his arms out wide. “Yes?”

“I was _saying_ that I bet the system gets stuff wrong.” Svin was perched on the edge of his bed, watching with eyes he swore were glowing. “Like me and Gray. Or you and…”

The ellipses hung heavy in the air.

Flat wondered what he wanted. He had to want something. The shows that flashed by on the television told him. Svin’s lovelorn monologues told him. The way Professor El Melloi II stared at the faded mark splashed across his knuckles told him.

The professor.

“Professor?”

Svin’s pillow slapped across his face. He yelped. Tossed it at his feet.

“What was that for?” 

“You don’t _love_ him!”

“I do!”

“You don’t!”

It was obvious that Svin was offended. There was the snarl of his teeth. They looked like fangs like this. He was like a dog in many ways, wagging his tail after the slightest hint of their TA’s attention. Bristling at the scent of a slight.

Flat was rarely sure what he’d done wrong. He tossed the pillow back. Svin caught it and tucked it away.

“I do.”

“But do you want to kiss him?”

“Like _bisous_?” 

“Like on the lips.” It was difficult to understand Svin when he growled through his teeth.

Flat dropped back into his sheets and tried to picture it. What it would be like to lean in and just- The thought did not get any further than that. Flat prided himself on his vast imagination just as much as Svin scolded him for it, but his mind’s eye saw nothing but white. For some reason it felt like a relief. He dropped his forearm over his eyes to block out the fluorescent lighting. “I just wanna make him happy.”

The sheets of Svin’s mass production bed rustled. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, me too.”

\--

Sophomore year sign-ups hit shortly after midterms.

Flat, still undeclared, registered for every class his professor was teaching. El Melloi II grumbled but did not object.

\--

Rain came harsh and sudden on a Monday morning, soaking coats and backpacks through. Flat burst into the lecture hall, leaking water through the soles of his shoes. He shook his head, trying to fling the damp from his hair. Gray flashed across his vision.

Her usual jacket hung heavy over her shoulders from the weight of the rain. She peeled it from her shoulders. He’d never seen her without the hood before. Her hair was pinned up at the back of her head, save for two clumps that framed her face. She brushed it aside, and there it was. A sword, marked out in steel along her cheekbone.

Flat ripped his eyes away and squelched into the classroom.

\--

“I saw Gray’s soulmark,” Flat said conversationally, palms stretched flat to the sky.

Grass stains slammed into Svin’s clothes in his rush to roll over. “You _what?_”

Flat blinked. Thought. Pivoted. “Hey, the professor’s soulmark is grey, right?”

“What about Gray’s?” Svin’s breathing was heavy in a way it never got when he was running. Several girls that had been watching them (him, really) for the last several minutes got up to leave.

“Not ‘Gray!’ I mean, like the color!” It was a futile distraction, too little too late. At some point Svin’s hand had found his wrist. He looked thin, but Flat knew just how much time he spent at the gym. Svin did not exercise for show. “Ow- That hurts!” 

The pressure let up- but only barely. “What did it look like?”

“I don’t think she’d be happy if I told you.”

Something about Svin went shaky. The hand on Flat’s wrist disappeared. He used his newfound freedom to prop himself up on his elbows. Svin resumed his seat. “I don’t think the professor would be happy if we talked about his mark either.”

Petulant as his tone was, it still gave Flat pause. “… Because they’re dead?”

“What is wrong with you?”

Flat had heard the question enough times to know it was rhetorical. He hooked his hands under his head and stared up at the clouded sky.

\--

The hall lights lad long since extinguished, but Flat and Gray still sat on the ratty couch wedged into Professor El Melloi II’s office. Flat had his tongue stuck between his teeth as he banished typos from the latest version of his manuscript. Gray (knees tucked close) scribbled grades in purple pen. Technically their professor was there too, but he was snoring into his desk. Before he’d fallen to sleep, he’d pulled an old red hoodie over his shoulders. It was about ten sizes too big. Gray set aside her papers and stood to hike it back up his shoulders before it fell to the floor.

“Is that ‘Rider’s?”

Gray hissed a warning, finger pressed against her lips.

Flat lowered his voice. “It looks like the one he’s wearing in the pictures.”

Professor El Melloi II had never addressed the portraits directly, but they were everywhere. Framed photographs filled the gaps in his bookshelf. The few clear spots on his desk were reserved for additional images. He’d even managed to mount one on the cinderblock wall.

Gray looked to that one, eyes soft. “He doesn’t talk about it, but I think so.”

“They were soulmates, right?”

El Melloi II was much shorter in that picture. Flat hadn’t recognized him on his first visit. He stood next to an enormous man with bright red hair that smiled like the world was his. There were many other people in the picture. Flat had seen some dropping in and out of the office, all 10 years older.

Once, when El Melloi II had left to find some food, Flat had leaned in for a closer look at the photograph. The mark peeking out from the hem of his young professor’s sleeve was red.

Gray had looked too. Her voice was a whisper. “Probably.”

“Hey, Gray?”

She adjusted the jacket on their professor’s shoulders one more time and tip-toped back to the couch.

“I’m not as dumb as everyone thinks.”

Gray stayed quiet.

“The Professor’s done a lot for me. I mean, for both of us. He’s probably been through a lot, but he still went out of his way to reach out. I think I probably would’ve been kicked out of the university without him. And he got you your TA too.” His thighs ached from the weight of his laptop after so many hours. He put it aside and pulled his knees to his chest in imitation of her earlier position. “I want to make him happy. I mean, he lost his soulmate, but that’s not everything! I bet we could make him happy too!”

Gray grabbed his wrist, hushing him again. The Professor shifted. They held still until his snoring resumed. “Do you really think we could help?” Her voice was so low that Flat could hardly hear it.

“Why not?”

It was hard to see under Gray’s hood in the dark, but Flat thought she looked happy.

\--

Professor El Melloi II took one look at the TA assignments in front of him and cussed.

Despite his better judgment, Flat received his appointment letter later that week.

\--

Flat and Svin’s junior year, their constant professor had amassed a small army of assistants. Gray held the mantle of Head TA by virtue of her seniority, experience, and bearable personality. Flat and Svin were second in command, and two newbies shouldered the worst of the grunt work.

The first was Caules. He was majoring in computer science, but since Svin was majoring in engineering and Flat in three completely unrelated programs, it did not raise any eyebrows. His mastery of Excel made grading much easier.

The second addition, Jack, joined them late. They were appointed to replace Yvette- a student who’d been kicked from the department for sexual harassment. 

Jack was much older than the rest of them- Almost as old as the professor himself. While the majority of the students did not comment, Flat had no such compunctions.

“What’d you do before you started college?”

Professor El Melloi II’s eyebrows twitched in the way they did just before a scolding. Jack looked to him before clearing their throat. “I was in prison.”

Flat was not sure what he was expecting, but he knew that he was not the only one in the office that was surprised. Svin bristled. Flat elbowed him back. “What for?”

“Jack,”

Their professor’s words did not stop him. “Murder.”

“They were exonerated, and the conviction was overturned.” The professor snapped.

Despite his reassurance, Gray shifted her weight, Svin bared his teeth, and Caules looked like he was trying to melt into the wall. El Melloi II pressed his hand to his head, glaring at Jack from its shadow. “_Fuck_. I told you this would happen.”

“I don’t want to lie,” Jack reasoned. “And he asked.”

The rest of the meeting was punctuated by disbelieving curses. Flat couldn’t help his laugh.

\--

Jack stumbled into their shared office space looking worse for the wear. Their clothes were rumpled, their eyes puffy, and their hair a tangled mess. Flat scrambled to his feet. “Wow! What happened? Did you get hit by a truck? Or abducted?”

Jack shook their head and collapsed into their chair. A pile of papers and a rubric decorated their desk. Dutifully, slowly, they dragged the cap off a pen. “I’m sleeping in my car.”

“_What?_” Flat’s voice echoed. Someone down the hall yelled for him to shut the hell up. He ignored it. “Why’re you sleeping in your car? What about the dorms? Or an apartment? You got compensation, so you should have money, right?”

There was nothing inherently wrong with what Flat was saying, but his naivety was evident as ever. Jack tapped their pen against their desk. “I have money, but most people don’t want to rent to someone like me.”

“But you’re _innocent!_” Flat said it with such conviction, such trust, that it almost hurt.

“That’s what the courts say.” It slipped out sour. They regretted it the moment it left their mouth, but Flat stayed thoughtful. It was a strange look on him.

Flat leaned back in his chair until he threatened to topple over backwards. Just when they were wondering whether they should stop him, the front legs of Flat’s chair made violent contact with the floor, and he surged to his feet. “Okay! You should come live with me and Svin!”

Jack’s mouth worked but no sound came out. Flat was happy to make up for it.

“Right? It’s a great idea! We can be roommates! I mean, we’ve gotta ask Svin, and I guess he kinda doesn’t like you, but I bet I can convince him! Except you shouldn’t have to sleep in your car anymore, so you can just say you’re sleeping over. You can stay in my room, and I’ll sleep on the couch. We can get you a bed after Svin says ‘yes,’ because we couldn’t sneak one past him,”

Flat was talking a thousand miles a second. Even if he wasn’t, Jack would not have been able to keep up. They were still stuck on the offer. It rung through their head until Flat cut through with their name.

“Huh?”

His face was dangerously close, grin just as wide. “So you wanna move in?”

The ‘yes’ slipped out.

Flat cheered.

\--

Flat did not think of soulmarks for a long time. He was afforded the dubious privilege by virtue of his blank skin. Svin’s remained missing, and both his professor and Gray had lost theirs long ago. Caules, while he had a mark (soft yellow and pale blue hidden behind his bangs), was not the sort to speak of it.

Jack’s mark came as a surprise. They emerged from the bathroom at an ungodly hour on a Sunday, toweling the wet from their hair. Flat blinked at them from the kitchen table, riding the tail end of an all-night movie marathon with Svin. (He’d invited Jack. They’d declined.)

Despite having lived together for three months, it was the first time he saw their wrist. The mark was small enough to fit under Jack’s omnipresent watch: A cross cut ‘x’ interwoven with a thicket of vertical lines. Flat might have mistaken it for a scar if it weren’t for the color.

Grey.

Their eyes met. Jack glanced down at their wrist. They dropped their towel to their shoulders and heaved a sigh. “Good morning, Flat.”

“Good morning, Jack!” It took most of his willpower to wrench his eyes away. “You’ll never guess who showed up at the diner! I mean, okay, he was with a regular! But it was Gilgamesh! That big business guy!” He’d been eager to tell the story just minutes ago, but now…

“You can ask.”

“Are you sure?” The response came a little too fast.

Jack nodded. They dragged themself to their shared couch and gestured for Flat to join them “I was wondering when to tell you. I wanted to hear your opinion.”

Flat was all too eager to drop down next to him. It was a small couch. Given their present proximity, he felt entitled to lean in close to get a better look at Jack’s wrist. They did not object. “My opinion on what?”

“Honestly, I’m still not sure what happened.” Jack reclaimed their arm and looked down, lost in the hash marks. “Before I came here, I was in prison for murder.”

“But you were innocent!” Flat supplied.

“That’s what they tell me.” And that uncertainty captured the rest of Flat’s perpetually fractured attention. “I don’t remember it. I just remember her.”

“Your soulmate?”

“Yes. We met when we were both kids. I was from a middle-class family, but she…” They huffed. Gestured. “She had a very difficult life. When I met her she was living on the streets. My family took her in when our marks matched. They thought we could give her a better life.”

“What happened?”

Jack flicked Flat’s forehead the way they’d seen their professor do many times before. “If you shut up for five seconds, I’ll tell you.”

“Ow… Fine.”

“Good.” And Jack talked.

Their soulmate was also named ‘Jack,’ or so they thought. She’d only told them her name after they’d shared theirs. She was probably one year younger than them. Probably. They did not have any documents, given her lifestyle. No birth certificate, no social security, nothing. She did not cooperate with school or baths or any sort of authority. She only listened to Jack. They did not mind. In turn, they tried to entertain her requests as often as possible.

One such request was a trip back to where they’d found her. They were around fourteen at the time. Their parents, exhausted by her behavior, let them go alone. The weather was miserable, but she insisted.

Jack did not remember anything after that. Just the police station and clothing soaked in blood. The interrogation filled in some of the details. Two dead bodies, and one survivor covered in defensive wounds. One knife, lodged in the abdomen of a stranger. Two hand-shaped bruises on their soulmate’s neck. Countless bruises on Jack’s chest and arms.

Without memory they couldn’t defend themself during the trial. Without memory they could not speak for their guilt. Missing hours of thoughts and sights and feelings that they would never get back. Missing clothing they’d worn, taken as evidence. Missing parents who abandoned them after their conviction. Missing years spent in a concrete room.

Their lawyer insisted that Jack was innocent. Said she had proof. But all the evidence at the trial slipped past Jack’s eyes and ears like wind.

It was the kind of case that Professor El Melloi II would have loved to solve. Flat suspected he’d had a hand in Jack’s exoneration. His admiration swelled so big he feared he’d burst if he tried to hold it in. But Jack was looking at him with tired eyes, so he managed.

There was one question still lingering.

“Who’d they say did it?”

“I don’t- It could have been me. I have no idea.”

Flat stared until Jack relented. “They said it was my soulmate. That the other victim strangled her in self-defense, and I got hurt trying to protect her. I got knocked out, and the other victim died of bloodloss after finishing the job.”

“You don’t believe that?”

“I don’t know what I believe.”

Flat looked past Jack to the microwave clock in the kitchen. Nearly an hour had passed. They had a lecture in thirty minutes. It was one of El Melloi II’s, and Flat refused to be anything less than ten minutes early. He got to his feet. Jack’s wrist caught him on the way up. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Flat was not good at deduction. Not in the same way his professor was. He hummed and rolled his head back to the ceiling. “I dunno. Does it matter?”

Jack wrinkled their nose in the way they always did when they were confused. “Of course it does. I might be a killer.”

“You might’ve _been_ a killer,” Flat corrected. “You’re not gonna do it again right?”

Jack hesitated. “I… Don’t want to.”

“Then it doesn’t matter!” Flat moved through their tiny living room, snatching up bits and piece of his school supplies. He could feel Jack’s eyes on him as he went, so he clarified. “It’s not like we can bring them back or anything, so there’s no point in worrying and stuff. It’s sad that they’re dead, but that’s over now.” He picked up Jack’s book bag and, with some effort, heaved it in their direction.

Jack made no attempt to catch it. It landed across their knees. They were staring with the same expression Caules made when meeting Jack. Flat had seen it often enough to know it was fear and to not take it personally. “I mean, human life’s really important. But theirs are over and yours is still going. Isn’t it a lot more of a waste to spend all your time worrying about stuff in the past?” Flat was out the door before Jack could answer.

\--

When Flat saw Jack in class, they were not wearing their watch.


	2. Tying the Knot [Talking Circles]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before the wedding.

In all his life, Kingu had only had the displeasure of wearing a tie twice. The first was at his first conference. The second was now. He fumbled with the knot. Originally too tight, then too lose, then perfect but rumpled to hell and back. He cussed and ripped it from his neck, all but reveling in the pain of fabric cutting at his spine.

He’d thought there was one person on the planet he’d wear a tie for. He was learning he was wrong.

Enkidu poked their head in, smile first. “If you’re trying to hang yourself with that, I will personally kick your ass.”

“I tried, but Gilgamesh wouldn’t help tie me up over the alter. Said it would spoil the mood.” He wrenched the tie over his head, ruining both his collar and his hair.

“This,” Enkidu intoned, “Is why you will be single forever.”

“This,” Kingu replied, “Is why I’m not the one spending the rest of my life in a dusty old museum.” He retrieved his tie from the couch where it landed and slung it around his neck. Enkidu reached out and started folding the ends over one-another. “Do you even know how to tie that?”

Enkidu hummed, unfolded the fabric, and started over again.

Kingu examined their outfit.

He’d seen it before, in the bright lights of a bridal store. The white made a good contrast against Enkidu’s tanned skin- both the slacks and the jacket. The vest underneath was a pleasant green, studded with golden buttons. The lace cuffs scratched on Kingu’s skin. He brushed them off.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married.”

Enkidu shrugged. They picked at the net of braids in their hair. Kingu slapped their hand away again. “I kept telling Gil we didn’t have to, but he was pretty adamant about it.” They lowered their voice. “Bet you anything it’s Ninsun’s fault. She kept saying I was like one of her kids and giving him that Look.”

“But you said ‘yes.’” Kingu’d seen the ring. He’d been expecting something ostentatious, with a gem the size of his fingernail. In reality, it was a simple titanium band with vines engraved through the center. Gilgamesh had obviously thought long and hard about it. It was as relieving as it was disgusting.

Voices piled up outside. There was a sharp knock at the door.

Enkidu’s eyes lit up. “Come in!”

Shamhat strutted through in her high heels, with a grin on her face and a bundle of flowers in her arm. Enkidu all but leapt at her. She side-stepped effortlessly. “You just saw me last night. We were drinking until two in the morning.”

“So_?_” Enkidu made another whole-hearted effort to drag her into a hug.

Shamhat evaded them and brushed her way back to Kingu. “And you- I was sure I saw Tiamat fix your tie an hour or so ago. Why don’t you ask her to do that again?” Kingu grunted. Shamhat, bless her heart, seemed to get the message. “Here- I’ll get it for you.” Deft hands made quick work of the knot. She patted it and shot Kingu a stern look that told him not to fuss. “Perfect. Now- Did your other friend need help?”

“Fulanah?” Enkidu craned their neck. After a considerable amount of conflict, they’d talked Gilgamesh down to a tiny venue. This meant that there was no designated changing room for the wedding party. The office they’d picked was cramped, but not as cramped as earlier. Fulanah was nowhere to be found. “Where’d she go?”

“Why should I know? Maybe to see her boyfriend?” Kingu scoffed.

“Maybe.” Enkidu did not seem convinced. “How much longer until the ceremony?

Shamhat glanced at her phone. “Fifteen minutes.”

“So,”

“She seems very responsible. I’m sure that she’ll be back in time.” Shamhat locked her hands on Enkidu’s shoulders and spun them toward the mirror. “Now do me a favor and take a look. Is there anything that you want me to fix before it’s time?”

“I don’t really care,”

Kingu shouldered in beside them. “So you don’t give a shit if all the pictures on the mantle place have that dumbass snarl on the side of your head?”

Enkidu scrambled at their hair before Shamhat grabbed their wrists and wrestled them back down. Several combs and bobby pins later, Fulanah slipped though the door like a ghost. Her deep grey suit matched her appearance, and Enkidu’d made a point to find her a matching scarf. She was holding a box of white flowers. One was pinned to her pocket. “I’ve delivered the corsages for Gilgamesh’s party as well,” she explained.

Shamhat accepted the box and passed Kingu one of the two remaining. “Theirs were red?”

“Yes.” The finality with which Fulanah took her seat told Shamhat that she was done talking.

Enkidu smiled soft and looked back in the mirror. They must have seen their outfit a hundred times by now. They were not sure they’d ever given clothing so much cumulative attention, regardless of how long they’d owned some of their shirts and pants. Their family had teased them about it more than once. Kingu’d been cruelest. Aruru, and to a lesser extent Tiamat, just seemed happy.

And maybe they were happy too, because somewhere on the other end of the building Gilgamesh was undoubtedly adjusting his tie in a similarly cramped room. Maybe Ozymandias, Iskandar, and Siduri were squabbling behind him, just like Enkidu’s party.

They plucked their phone from the countertop and opened a new text.

_Are you ready?_

Ellipses dashed across the screen. They grinned.

_Of course. And you?_

Gilgamesh was terse as ever. They could tell by the way that the ellipses flashed off and on again he was hesitating. Cute.

Kingu’s knuckles made quick contact with Enkidu’s shoulder blade. They shot him a glare. “Two minutes ‘til showtime. We’re gonna be late if you keep grinning at your phone like an idiot.”

Enkidu grinned and tapped out a final message.

_Guess you’ll find out._

They dropped their phone on the countertop. It buzzed once more, but Kingu and Shamhat had their arms through their elbows and were leading them out the door. Whatever. Gilgamesh could just say it at the altar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're dressed in uncomfortable clothing because they're in love.


	3. Back and Forth [Talking Circles]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigma/No Name
> 
> Their side of the story.

Paint crusted metal and half-burnt schedule lights mottled the bus stop. The remnants of gunshots showed here and there. A few years ago, someone had tried to plug them with gum. They’d either given up or left the neighborhood- possibly in a casket. Sigma’d been there for several of them. The spotty public transit serviced half the neighborhood during daylight hours, meaning that unfriendly strangers met there more often than otherwise.

Here in the dark, he hooked at the paint with his fingernails. The weight of his hidden holster was an anchor on his thigh. People like him weren’t stupid enough to leave the house unarmed. 

When Sigma first saw her, he thought she was.

She did not look like she belonged.

He’d first noticed her on the bus on the way back from the office. She was in the seat across from him, attention absorbed by the lint on her skirt. All but her hands and face was covered in fabric. She was still enough that he wondered if she was breathing.

When she stood at his stop, he was equally surprised by her movement and her apparent destination.

Her hand slipped from the handle and drifted out the door on silent feet.

Sigma nearly missed his stop.

That was not the last time. She’d shown up again and again, like a ghost haunting the station. She did not look at her phone or pull out a book. Whether she was at the stop or on the bus, she just stared straight ahead.

Like now.

She stood between the bars where there’d once been a wooden bench, looking out ahead through the darkness. After he’d first noticed it, it was hard not to notice the outline of a knife spelled out against her hip.

It was a little late for her, but it was late for him too. In a detached kind of way, he’d noted that she usually took the 5:00 bus to get to work. It was now 7pm.

A bus pulled in. It was one of the two lines that visited this stop, but it was not the one she normally took. He _did not_ watch as she dragged herself up the stairs.

She seemed unhappy. But that was none of his business.

\--

There was a boy at the bus stop. At least he looked like a boy. But he was always alone and, on the one occasion when he’d dropped his ID, Fulanah learned that he was older than he looked. She also learned that his name was ‘Sigma,’ though she was thought that this was not his given name.

Everything about him was layers upon layers. Layers of leather jacket covering his bony figure. Layers of black in his eyes hiding something. Layers of belts, concealing the tell-tale lump of a pistol on his leg. Even with a concealed holster, there were signs if you knew where to look.

She’d noticed him watching her. She did not mind. She was watching him as well, though she did not think he’d noticed. That ignorance was all the more endearing, because she knew what sort of upbringing made eyes like those. 

For Fulanah, it was her father. He’d expected a great deal of her- of all of them. She’d been the only one to fail him. Her siblings still called from time to time- sometimes when she was waiting for the bus. She let the messages go to voicemail, not eager to hear their platitudes.

Sigma never received any calls that she could see, family or otherwise. She was not sure if that was a good thing.

\--

“You okay? Because you seem pretty out of it.”

When Fulanah turned from the sink, Enkidu was staring at her with their wide, unnerving eyes. They seemed curious.

“It’s nothing.”

They hummed and tacked an order up for the cooks. “You’re pretty private about this stuff.”

Fulanah did not point out that they were much the same. They were smart enough to make the connection. She traced her fingertip over the edge of a plate and considered her options. “There is someone that I see at the bus stop.”

“And?” There was mischief in their voice. She was not sure that she liked the implication.

“I don’t know. He’s always looking at me.”

The shift in tone was instant. “Do you need me to beat him up?”

She was surprised by how quickly she shook her head. Enkidu seemed surprised as well. “I have just never had anyone stare at me like that before,” she explained. “People do stare at me, but I am sure you know the look. He does not look at me like that. He looks at me like I am a person.”

“Oh.” Enkidu cocked their head and looked over her shoulder. It was the same look they got on the rare occasions when they confided something. She braced herself, but then their chin dropped, and they gave her one of those smiles that was not a smile at all. “Well, if you change your mind, just tell me. But maybe it’s a good thing?”

“Maybe.”

\--

Winter snow melted into Spring slush. Sigma spent the better part of an hour scrubbing the salt stains from his boots before lacing them up. He’d learned early to wear heavy-duty boots when working for Francesca. She had her awful, theatrical hands in innumerable pots, most of which contained illegal substances. Stirring most of those pots took manual labor.

… He was never very good at metaphors.

It was not like he had much choice either. She’d bailed him out of jail shortly after the gang that raised him was busted for the last time, and footed the bill for an excellent attorney. It was no exaggeration to say that he owed his current lifestyle to her. Whether that was good or bad was irrelevant.

What was relevant was the problems that followed him home.

Sigma was picking at the gum-filled bullet holes when one such problem found him. A hand caught his wrist, and the cold steel of a pistol brushed the nape of his neck. “You _little shit._”

His hand flicked for his gun on more reflex than reason. The butt of the pistol caught him in the back of the head.

Careless. Though he’d always known he’d disappear like this. The first rule of his life was that everyone slipped up at some point.

The screams were the first surprise. The sound of blood on leather was the second. His ears were ringing just enough to drown out the running, but not enough to block a woman’s voice. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Not outside of the horrendous lump forming on his skull, but that was preferable to a bullet in his brain. A thin but firm arm hooked under his armpit and pulled him to his feet. He craned his neck to assess the latest threat (?). “You…” The way she held her knife in her off hand looked as natural as he’d suspected it would. There was black on the blade. Sigma knew it would be bright red in the light.

“Fulanah.” She dragged his arm over her shoulder and settled him against the wall of the bus shelter.

He was not beyond collapsing into it. “Fulanah. Why did you do that?”

“You needed help.” She made it sound so easy. Less than a minute, and she was pulling a chemical ice pack out of her bag. She cracked it and pressed it against his head with enough force to make him hiss. “What is your name.”

There was no question mark. She already knew. Of course. She had seen his ID. He’d been careless that day, drained dry by his latest job. “Why do you have that knife?”

“Why do you have that gun?”

Fair. He brushed off her hand and the ice pack with it. Headlights hit them. The knife and its red were nowhere to be seen. The drape of her coat hid her legs, but he suspected the lump of its hilt was lurking under there. She would need to dispose of it later. The edge was bound to rust under blood. “This is my bus,” he told her. He was not sure why.

“Mine as well.”

“I know.”

“…Right.”

Though they sat across from one another, neither spoke a word for the ride.

\--

There was a kind of community in Sigma’s apartment complex.

The grizzled old man on the first floor was fond of offering unsolicited (but useful) advice. The boisterous bastards on the second were not considerate of the paper-thin walls but were always good for a favor. The kid who lived with his father on the fourth was reckless as all hell but gave Sigma their leftovers on odd-numbered nights.

Most of them could not afford medical treatment, but the scarred, ageless man who lived down the hall was happy to patch them up.

Sigma closed his eyes and tried to relax into the hard wood of one of the dining chairs while his neighbor poked at the lump on his head.

“It isn’t a concussion. You’re lucky your skull is so thick. Didn’t I tell you to stop working jobs for that madwoman?”

They’d had this discussion a thousand times, so Sigma saw no sense in arguing.

“It was a good thing that girl saved you. I may be good, but even I can’t fix you if you’re dead. What did you say her name was again?”

“Fulanah.”

That hum meant nothing good. “You said that you’d seen her before.” He nodded. His neighbor yanked his hair. “Stop moving. I am checking for lacerations. Did you say that she was roughly your age?”

It felt like a trap, but Sigma confirmed his suspicions regardless.

“You could use more friends, your age or otherwise.”

He was not wrong, and Sigma resented it.

\--

“You know what? I shouldn’t have asked you. You can give me dating advice when you finally talk to that guy at your bus stop that you won’t shut up about.”

Fulanah did not talk to Enkidu for a week.

\--

The bus stop was more crowded in the day. Though the weather’d taken a turn for the hot, Fulanah was still draped in knits. Sigma was hardly dressed any better, but he was baking in his long-sleeved shirt. He had no idea how she looked so cool.

“Did I say something strange?”

Sigma snapped his eyes away from her too-dry face. “No.” She’d been talking more lately. Asking more questions about what he did in his spare time (nothing) and what he liked (he was not sure). He wracked his brain for a distraction and found it in his bag. “Someone in my building brought me leftovers from their dinner last night. You said you don’t always get to eat at work, so I brought you some.”

“Oh.” She stared down at the take-out container like it was an alien object. It was not anything fancy. Chicken over rice was just barely visible through the condensation on the plastic lid. “Is this…”

“Can you eat it?”

She made some noncommittal noise that told him nothing at all. She tucked it in her bag regardless. “Thank you.”

The heat felt a little more bearable.

\--

There’d been an accident, and the usual bus was delayed nearly half an hour. Fulanah opened her browser, noted an additional ten minutes on the expected arrival time, and forced it closed. In the past she’d managed to convince Touta to drive her, but he was working late tonight. Neither Enkidu nor Shirou owned a car.

At this rate she would not be home until nearly midnight.

Her phone buzzed.

She flinched.

But rather than her family, Sigma’s name flashed across the screen.

** _Sigma: _ ** _Are you stuck too?_

Fulanah’s face felt strange- taught around the lips. She shook it away.

** _Fulanah: _ ** _Yes. _

** _Sigma: _ ** _Are you at the stop by Harrison?_

** _Fulanah: _ ** _Yes. _

** _Sigma: _ ** _I’m walking over. I’ll call us a rideshare._

When Fulanah locked her phone, her smile reflected off the screen.

\--

“Who was that girl? She’s pretty cute.”

Sigma’s second boisterous neighbor, a woman with a thick waft of hair, grinned down from a balcony.

He ignored her.

\--

“You’re getting more casual too,” Enkidu remarked, arms full of food. “Did you finally talk to that guy at the bus stop?”

Fulanah rolled her eyes skyward. But the moment her shift ended, she hurried out front with a carton full of leftovers. She was only repaying him for his previous kindness, she told herself. But his surprise was a nice bonus.

\--

“Someone named Miaya is calling.”

Fulanah winced.

“I’ll let it go to voicemail.”

“Thank you.” She arranged the rest of the dishes in the sink and wiped the water clean of her hands. Sigma’d never mentioned that he cooked, but it made sense. Neither could afford to eat out or order in. Sigma’s mismatched chairs, for example, showed signs of weathering. She’d seen at least one of them on someone’s curb several months ago. She did not mention it when she sat down.

Her phone buzzed loud against the end table. She picked it up. There was one new voicemail. She locked the screen and tucked it away. “Sigma, do you have any family?”

He looked at her with the same black eyes as always. They were gaining depth lately. She wondered why.

“You don’t need to tell me if it’s painful.”

Empty surfaces surrounded them. There were no pictures on the walls, tables, or fridge. There were no phone numbers taped to the cabinets, or pieces of paper on the countertops. Watching him cook was like watching a machine. No wasted movement. Supplies kept in clean, separate containers. The bed in the corner of his studio has hospital corners, and even the darkest corners were wiped clean. There was a duffel bag shoved under it, just big enough to contain all the necessities.

“No,” Sigma said. “I know I had a mother. I never knew her.”

“I see.” Fulanah’s phone buzzed again- a reminder of a message never acknowledged. She slipped her hand through the space between them and lay it over Sigma’s.

He linked his fingers with hers and did not ask for more.

It was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using "Fulanah" as No Name's 'name,' just like in Talking Circles. (Well, this is the same AU after all.) 
> 
> I ship this and so do Watcher's shadows and that makes it Valid
> 
> also they're both emotionally stunted children but they're trying their best.
> 
> I feel like this ends kinda abruptly and I'm sorry but apparently not sorry enough to sit on it any longer

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a drabble expanding on Flat in Complementary-Verse. It... ended up a lot longer than intended (but there's still no plot). 
> 
> Personally I headcanon Flat as aro/ace but interested in the concept of romance... Even if he isn't particularly interested in engaging in it himself. I hope I conveyed that well here! (that said I love reading shippy fic with Flat and all of the people who write it are my heroes)
> 
> Don't ask me who Svin's soulmate is because I have absolutely no idea. Also don't ask me how Flat convinced Svin to let Jack stay with them because all I know is that Svin probably still hates it.
> 
> In this case, Gray's soulmate actually died before she was born. It's incredibly rare, but not impossible. Still, it's seen as a bad omen. Her parents named her "Gray" at least partially because of the color of her soulmark. 
> 
> El Melloi II's was Iskandar. I mean I think that was obvious but just in case. I'm not sure what happened to him, but he's not around anymore. I'm really sorry Waver. (Also writing about Waver as El Melloi II is a huge pain in the butt? That name is such a mouthful? Agh????
> 
> Neutral pronouns for Jack because reasons. Tbh I headcanon them as constantly questioning their gender identity. They're sticking to neutral pronouns until they figure out what they're most comfortable with. 
> 
> There should be Gilkidu in future chapters because I am incapable of restraint. Also expect some Sigma/No Name.


End file.
